


Wing Dust Dye

by snuckybarnes



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Gen, Magical Realism, Moth!Jon, Moths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:13:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24390370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuckybarnes/pseuds/snuckybarnes
Summary: Mortals can be kind. Martin Blackwood is proof of this. Yet he is not only kind, but also incrediblyfascinating.---A moment from faerie moth Jon's perspective.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 80
Kudos: 1013





	Wing Dust Dye

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [dustsceawung](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206995) by [callmearcturus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus). 



> The original fic has been occupying my mind so much that I had to write a little drabble from Jon's point of view (posted with their permission, of course!)
> 
> It's written post chapter 3, and takes place somewhere ambiguously between chapters 2 and 3.

Mortals can be kind. Martin Blackwood is proof of this. Yet he is not only kind, but also incredibly _fascinating._

He even gave Jon a name, too. It’s not his true name, of course, but it’s just as good. It feels nice, wrapping around him just like his cloak does when he isn’t in his moth form. Jon, no ‘h’. It’s good to have something to call himself.

Not that he introduces himself to many people. Still, he likes to entertain the thought of knocking on Martin’s door someday instead of just leaving a gift by the doorstep.

“Hello,” he’ll say, “I thought I’d deliver this in person today. It seemed nicer than to just write _from Jon_ on the box.”

And Martin will invite him in for tea, because he’s nice like that, and he’ll tell Jon about his moth friend who he’s expecting any moment now, and Jon will open up his cloak to show that he’s already there. And then Martin will blush just a bit and then let Jon curl up next to him on the sofa, resting his head against Martin’s shoulder.

It’s a lovely fantasy.

But just a fantasy. Jon brings his front legs up to brush his antennae, trying to clear the thought from his mind. In reality, Martin would probably be uncomfortable if a stranger knocked on his door, and even more so once he found out that Jon had been in his home before. It’s best that things stay like this. Comfortable.

Jon flaps his wings, fluttering from the back of Martin’s hand to his shoulders. The smell of him is stronger there, all wool and honey and cinnamon, and Jon would be quite content to stay there for hours upon hours. He would have done so already, if Martin didn’t insist on turning his head to look at him so often. It makes him wince and rub at the back of his neck after a while, and Jon can’t bear to cause him pain.

He likes Martin’s hair too, loves how it’s soft and white like a cloud despite Martin being so young. The one time he’s landed in it he was immediately overcome with a need to know how it feels against his human fingers, what it would be like to brush through it as gently as Martin brushes through the wool he works. And there’s something else too, a darker wish to coat Martin’s hair in the dust from his wings, dyeing it brown and teal, to give him _Jon’s_ mark and not just the Weaver’s. He doesn’t act upon it, of course. But whenever he finds himself on Martin’s shoulder and his wing brushes against the tips of his hair, who can blame him if some of the strands are left with a little bit of colour? It’s not like anyone will notice anyway.

Martin sighs heavily, shoulders sagging and almost jostling Jon off of his perch, and puts his yarn away. It’s a warm yellow that reminds Jon of autumn leaves.

“You must be hungry by now, huh?” Martin says, but his words sound...a bit hollow. He didn’t sound quite like himself when Jon first arrived today, but now it’s worse. Jon desperately wishes he could ask Martin what’s wrong.

Martin stands from the sofa and walks them both over to the kitchen, pouring some sugar water for Jon and preparing some tea for himself. Jon flies down to the counter, but instead of eating he looks at Martin. His eyes are a bit red-rimmed.

Jon knows then that Martin had been crying earlier today, but it makes no sense. Martin shouldn’t be sad. He should be happy, always.

More knowledge follows, Martin’s emotions spilling over into the empty air between them. His loneliness, his feeling of not belonging anywhere. Jon knows what that’s like.

“Is something wrong with your food?” Martin asks. “Come on, you should eat something.”

Jon crosses his front legs and rubs them together, hoping it will convey any sort of message. He can’t eat while Martin is sad.

“Figures, doesn’t it,” Martin says, defeated. “I can’t even feed a moth.” His heartache is radiating off of him, unwanted, useless, unloved.

No.

No. Jon won’t allow it.

He flaps his wings, bringing himself to Martin’s chest, just above his heart. He can feel it beating, beneath the woolen jumper he’s clinging on to with all his legs.

_You have me,_ he wants to say. _I never want to be anywhere else._

Martin is very still, aside from a sniff. “You… Is this a hug?” he asks. “I’ll… I’ll take it if it is. Thanks, little guy.” He can’t hug back, of course, but he does reach his hand up to stroke a finger down Jon’s back.

Martin isn’t small, even by human standards. Compared to Jon’s moth form, he is absolutely enormous, his index finger as thick as Jon’s entire body. He could crush him so easily (this physical form, at least) and yet Jon has never met anyone quite so gentle. He feels safe with Martin, has done so ever since Martin dried the rainwater off of him that first time. He hopes Martin feels safe with him too.

“You’re really sweet, did you know that?” Martin murmurs, and Jon has to clean his antennae again to stop himself from squirming. Martin thinks he’s sweet! Martin puts his hands below Jon then, gently coaxing him to let go of the jumper. He holds him high in his cupped palms, high enough that they’re at eye level. “You know what would make you even sweeter though? Your sugar water. Eat something before you make me worried, yeah?” Martin continues, setting Jon back down on the counter.

Jon flails with one leg at him before he approaches the saucer. _Yeah, yeah._

“There you go,” Martin says, a small smile on his lips as he turns to finish preparing his tea. Tea would be a good gift for him, Jon thinks. He will have to put it on his list.

There’s silence again for a minute or so, before Jon once again feels Martin’s finger stroke across his back. His wings twitch slightly.

“I wonder if I could make yarn as soft as you,” Martin muses. “I could crochet a pillow or something, and hug you by proxy. Maybe I could figure out a way to dye it your colours too. The hue wouldn’t be too difficult, I suppose; it’s the iridescence that would be the tricky part.”

The stroking stops, and Jon turns around to see that Martin is leaning with both arms on the counter, resting his chin on top of them. “I’m just glad you keep coming back. I don’t know why you do it, but I’m grateful. You’re special,” Martin tells him. His smile grows a bit, and he chuckles to himself. “I wonder if you’d turn into a prince if I kissed you. Or maybe that just applies to frogs.” He grimaces. “I’d take you over a frog prince any day though. I’m not too fond of slime.”

Jon’s front legs start rubbing together almost without him noticing. Martin has thought about kissing him? Not _like that,_ obviously, because Martin thinks he’s just a moth and this is just the same thing as a mortal kissing a cat or a dog. But still.

Jon is hardly a prince, and a kiss is certainly not what makes him change from one form to another, but...still.

Before he can think better of it, he flaps his wings and lands on the tip of Martin’s nose.

Martin goes absolutely still, adorably cross eyed as he tries to look at Jon so closely. His breath is tickling the lower parts of Jon’s wings, and were he in his human form he would no doubt be shivering.

Jon doesn’t really have a mouth for kissing, so he just presses his face against Martin’s skin. Martin draws in a trembling breath and Jon lifts off and flies out the open window, leaving Martin staring wide eyed after him.

He’ll get something really nice for the next gift box.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this little short piece while we're all waiting for Arcturus to drop the next chapter!


End file.
